Don't We Love Them?
by StrangePenguin
Summary: WARNING: PARODY Have you ever tried to give your friends an explaination what's the thing about fanfic? Well, try to explain it to your main characters then!...Reviews and non-violent gestures appreciated! ;-) Remember: I looooove you!


Okay, hi people! This is a sort of a parody I tried out once and don't worry, it's my first and my last time. I only wanted to tell you before you read this that I really love your stories and appreciate all your work and there's really some great stuff outta there. I love every bit of it and don't wanna miss it anymore! Nevertheless I tried that parody which is simply for fun, not for hurting anyone of you with a comment and I hope, you will take it as it is meant, just for fun. Remember, I love all your stuff, I love DM and wouldn't dare to be any mean to you by critising your work in a rude way because hey, I'm the one to talk! Everything that is said in the text is my own personal way of seeing things, it's nothing that I regard to be a known truth. Please don't take that seriously because I'm not a person that is taken seriously neither used to the fact that anybody does! ;-) (And sorry if the formatting might be strange, my PC hates me!)  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters nor am I actually seeing them as Jenny assumed. Oh, by the way, great thanks to Brain, she encouraged me to do that, so if you want to complain, it's all her fault! haha...no, only kidding, of course I take the whole responsibilty for this stuff (which is the least I can do, I think) and hope that you won't be angry with me. Humor is, if you laugh, though!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Mark closed his eyes. He had no choice, he had to do this. In front of him there was lying Jesse, pale, sweating, hardly able to breath anymore. For hours he had been hoping for help, for someone to rescue them from this completely hopeless situation. Jesse moaned. The kick had hit him hard into the chest, the rib was definitly broken and slowly impending to puncture Jesse's lung. Mark was scared beyond believe as he scutinisized his pocket knife that should help him bringing that makeshift breathing help into his friend's chest. Hell, that would hurt!  
  
  
  
  
  
I suddenly stopped moving my fingers over my keyboard. Oh great, I was stuck again. I couldn't really write that. That was too...I didn't think there was a word for it. For fanfiction there had to be invented an own language. Like the I-have-no-plot-so-let's-go-and-hurt-him-twist or the I- hate-explanations-hell-is-anyone-interested-anyway-spoiler.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Do you actually have any idea what you're doing?", asked a keen voice in my room. I lifted my head and looked away from my pc-screen at the guy who was sitting on my desk, dangling with his feet. I rolled my eyes. Considering the fact that he had no idea of literatur, he was here fairly too often, critizising my way of writing or my way of describing or my way of building up stories.  
  
  
  
  
  
"I could really ask you the same!", I retorted, hoping to sound unnervedly enough to make him shut up. But I already had to grin a bit. What was it about that man that you couldn't be angry with him?  
  
  
  
  
  
"Well, I just wanted to ask you why exactly it always has to be me?", he inquired, throwing me one of those I'm-so-small-and-innocent-looks.  
  
  
  
  
  
I shrugged. "Bad timing...You've got a feeling for trouble, remember?"  
  
  
  
  
  
He looked puzzeled at me. "Ah right...still don't get it...I mean, he's gonna stab my chest with it, do you have ever heard that hurts?!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"I can imagine, Jesse", I answered. I had learned to be cool with him. Otherwise he would have talked me into hell-knew-what. "But that's the thing about the story, you know. People just love to worry about you..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"But I don't like them worrying about me!!", he exclaimed, slightly irritated.  
  
  
  
  
  
"At least you got that thing right...", I said calmly, "You don't like them worrying about you. That makes the whole thing much more interesting by the way. It's a bit subtile...and somehow male, eh?"  
  
  
  
  
  
"You know I didn't mean it that way. I know that I'm like that, but....why? Why do you like tormenting people to death and then rescue them...well, when they're almost dead at least....", he looked at me curiously. Figures like him were really really demanding. They asked, they quarrled and were way too rebellious, considering that they weren't even real.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Honey, the keyword is "almost" !", I said, "Or why do you think it's called hurt/comfort?"  
  
  
  
  
  
"So having a young, completely innocent doctor stabbed by his best friend with a pen..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Pocket knife...", I corrected him.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Whatever...pocket knife, fine with me...so that's comfort, eh?"  
  
  
  
  
  
I shook my head. "Nope, actually that belongs to the hurting part!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Wasn't enough that that jerk kicked me, huh?"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Beg your pardon?! Wait 'till I get started...", I replied. It was completely pointless. Why was I still discussing anyway? Were they ever satisfied? It was obvious that they weren't. I really should have known better. When Jess was here the remaining part wasn't far away. Not at all when they sensed that there was a chance on arguing with me.  
  
  
  
  
  
"We all know what happens when you get started!", a deeper voice sounded from my sofa. Steve Sloan had placed his fit body on it, his face was wearing an amused smile. I rubbed over my eyes. "Steve...shouldn't you be out there beating up criminals anywhere? Bringing order into files...", I couldn't help but smiling evily, "arresting girlfriends?"  
  
  
  
  
  
To my high disappointment he simply chuckled. "Honey, you're damn lucky that I'm in a good mood today, otherwise I would probably tell ya that your plot is completely useless!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Thanks for that constructive critics, Oscar Wild!", I shot back, seeing him shrugging.  
  
  
  
  
  
"It's your story, not mine...all I'm telling ya is that it's absolutly stupid idea with that pocket knife. And that kicking and beating up Jess and what exactly was that cutting on the broken glas supposed to mean?!"  
  
  
  
  
  
I shrugged. "I thought it was a nice...opening. He's cute when he puts his finger into his mouth..."  
  
  
  
  
  
Steve laughed out. "Is that all you're thinking about, letting him look cute?!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"It's fanfic..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Yeah, but yours doesn't have a plot. Why do you bother writing a whole story? If you had just taken the scenes, that would have spared loadsa kicked in doors. Man, why can't I just open them by hand?", Steve took one of my magazines that were placed next to the couch and started reading them.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Oh, c'mon Steve, don't you watch TV? That's not what cops do! Cops are supposed to be....direct", the doc cut in now.  
  
  
  
  
  
Steve lifted his eye-brow. "So that's why they can't knock? On which site are you standing actually?"  
  
  
  
  
  
"I like her way of writing...only your plots, kid, they are..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Could you please stop that?", I required.  
  
  
  
  
  
"You like that pathetic stuff?", exclaimed Steve, glaring confusedly at his friend.  
  
  
  
  
  
"It isn't pathetic!", I explained. "It's emotional....do you know what that means?"  
  
  
  
  
  
"According to you", Steve snapped, "it's that one of us, mostly the short one by the way, steps in, crying, and we've gotta hug him. Which kind of moving scene is that supposed to be? You won't stop moving of laughing?!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"You just don't get it, do you? It's a nice gesture hugging a friend when he's down!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"You make us practically hug each other when we get a ticket for wrong parking!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"That's friendly. That's what fanfic consists of, friends being friends, in good times and bad times..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"I didn't marry him!", mumbled Steve.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Sometimes you did...not that I'd read slash..."  
  
  
  
  
  
He smiled sarcastically at me. "Of course, you wouldn't!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Don't ya think, you're being a bit too hard on her, guys?" By now they were almost completed.  
  
  
  
  
  
I sighed in relief. "Mark...one sensible guy in here at least. Would you please tell these ignorants that it is my story and I can do with it whatever I want..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Basically she's right!", Mark turned to the two younger men. "She doesn't do anything hundreds of others haven't done before her."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Yeah, abuse us badly! Do I look like a punching ball?!", Jess raised his voice again, but was harshly interrupted by his friends. "YEAH!"  
  
  
  
  
  
He was still sulking when also Amanda finally appeared. Now I had the whole Fab4 decorating my room, Steve on my sofa, Amanda and Mark in two armchairs and Jesse right next to me, on my desk. "Wow, now you're all here. Tell me, am I the only writer that gets the mispleasure of your sudden appearings whenever you like or is there some sort of a system in it?"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Not at all...", answered Amanda and smiled warmly. "We are where we are needed."  
  
  
  
  
  
I frowned. "That doesn't quite answer my question. I don't need you here. I need you to be in the story, stabbing each other with pens..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Pocket knifes...", corrected Jesse.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Whatever...kicking in doors, being smart and crying..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"What brings me to a good point...", started Amanda off.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Which would be?..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Why does it have to be me who starts crying first?"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Oh, that's easy...first thing, you're a woman, women wear make-up and make- up is very well to be described out when it gets washed away by tears..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Okay and second thing?", she folded her arms in front of her chest and seemed to wait for something more. Something better.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Second thing. Women are whiny, guys are tough. That's a rule! So women cry first, men don't..", I explained and heard her snorting angrily.  
  
  
  
  
  
"That's not what I would call emancipated.."  
  
  
  
  
  
I shrugged. "Depends on the point of view...see, you're a woman, I'm a woman. Would you go into a bar, where women strip, to have some fun or would you go for the male part?"  
  
  
  
  
  
She blushed. "That's not really to be compared..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Oh well, it is!", I said, "See, men are the interesting part of the story here. So they need a bit of a character work-over at some point, some emotional deep. Women do what they always do...they cry. And the tough guys get weak at the end and cry, too. And to be honest, crying men have something cute, haven't they?....so you can't say that it's not emancipated."  
  
  
  
  
  
Amanda nodded slowly and her eyes sparkled a little at my comment about crying men, while Mark, Steve and Jess simply gasped for air. "Isn't that some kind of sexual harrassment?", Steve inquired.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Wouldn't put it this way...it's just correcting some things that your makers sorta forgot..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Don't think my parents ever cared about it...", Jesse mumbled, looking at his shoes.  
  
  
  
  
  
Me and the three others couldn't help but smiling. Well, he was really doing this job amazingly. They had educated him at that point, that reaction had been some kind of reflex. The way he was sitting on my desk, looking slightly depressed and sad, you only wanted to hug him.  
  
  
  
  
  
Steve giggled. "She didn't mean that kind of makers, Jess!"  
  
  
  
  
  
Jesse glanced at him, confusedly, then slowly seemed to get it. "Oh...", he murmured, "those makers...hey, at least they never stabbed me with a..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Shut up, Jess!", mumbled, continuing typing. "By the way, if you complain about what I'm doing to you again, I will ask Jenny to dig your Harveys out one more time! Bet she will love that!"  
  
  
  
  
  
Jesse grimaced and the others chuckled. "Seeing dead people again...wow, that's definitly a step forward...something new at least. Better than a break-down or shooting or mysterius illness with high fever...I'm sick of this..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Harveys, Harveys, Harveys...", I whispered, staring onto my screen.  
  
  
  
  
  
"I was only sayin'..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Harveys, Harrrrveeeys...", I sang to the melody of 'Only You'.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Now that's not fair!", Mark interrupted me from the where he was resting. "You shouldn't be threatening him like that. Not exactly a fair game, you play. You're abusing your power."  
  
  
  
  
  
I had to laugh and turned around my screwed down chair to face the four of them. "Power abuse, eh? You know what I am doing? I'm sitting in my room, discussing with some guys that don't exist about things that don't happen. I am discussing with my phantasies!", I hissed, bitter-sweetly.  
  
  
  
  
  
"So then, maybe you should go and see a doctor!", Steve suggested and grinned sweetly.  
  
  
  
  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Steve, I really love you and your great lines, but you can be a true pain in the ass with those dumb comments!"  
  
  
  
  
  
He bowed his head like a little child. "Sorry...that keeps happening to me...don't know why..."  
  
  
  
  
  
I scrutinzised him calmly. "But I know it, Steve. So that makes the main difference between you and me! I know what you don't know, but since I haven't created you, I don't know everything about you. I'm not abusing any power, I'm only putting in some ideas, my personal look at your lifes and so does every other writer...and by the way, mostly we're really nice to you..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"I guess there is special point of view for that, too!", Mark grinned suspiciously.  
  
  
  
  
  
I nodded. "Right. See hurting people is the one part of the story...but the bigger and more important part is the comfort. It's the worries we give you and the love and the joy and all that mushy stuff, you don't find in real life nor in any forty-five minutes eppi..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"What do you mean by 'not find in real life'?", asked Jesse, natural curiosity breaking through. "Is it that different?"  
  
  
  
  
  
I nodded merely. "Quite different, yeah. You don't survive naturally everything that happens to you just because you are the main character. And you don't get up after having been held hostage for days and badly abused and say 'It's over, so let's move on'. Some people never forget what they have been through in such a time...and not all of them have friends...and we don't know who is abusing his power on us..."  
  
  
  
  
  
It was silent for a moment. None of them dared to speak. Until Steve started: "Bad thing that they never forget. But it happens to them only once. To me it happens three times a week and ask the others, we have a list in the making..."  
  
  
  
  
  
I had to smile and so did the others. "Yeah, about car accidents...", Mark raised his brow at Jesse who continued. "Beating up..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Strangeling...", Amanda went on.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Stabbing and shooting..."  
  
  
  
  
  
"...don't forget psychological shockings beyond believe!", Mark reminded them.  
  
  
  
  
  
They could go on for days. That was what they had fun at and I had to say that no matter how hard they were to deal with, I enjoyed their company.  
  
  
  
  
  
"And you still think that living in reality is hard?", Jesse asked mischieviously. "Well, try out fanfic life then. There you are some one with a personality some tv writer had given to you, looking like some stupid guy who runs around in your reality reciting lines and you are put into situations some insane tv junky creates, especially for you. I think that's what you call patch-work!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The others nodded in agreement. I held up my hands appeasingly. "Okay, you beat me, guys! Fanfiction gives you a tough time, but...I can't help it, I'm still the one with the keyboard."  
  
  
  
  
  
Mark, Steve, Amanda and Jesse moaned in unison, but it sounded kinda amusedly.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Scratch it, guys. We will never be able to talk some sense into her!", Steve sighed.  
  
  
  
  
  
The others agreed silently and got up from their resting places.  
  
  
  
  
  
"So then...", Jesse stated as he watched me turning back to the screen, "let's get back to the pen."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Pocket knife!!"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Whatever..."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
THE END  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Author's note: Hey ya, congratulations, you read till the end. Was it all that bad? Okay, please don't answer it. So I hope, you get my point now, all this is what I love about fanfiction (and what we all do a bit, don't we) and about DM and as I wanted to show with that is that I don't think I'm any better than that, but even worse, since I'm not very good at that stuff. So, don't forget: I looooooooooooooooooooove you!! 


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